


Stardust

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Disaster Boys, F/M, Gen, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Soulmates, Twink Clint, blind dates, camboy Clint, safe sex, sex worker!Clint, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21972370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Soul Meet claims they can find your soul mate and give you happily ever after.That hasn't been Bucky's experience so far.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Comments: 98
Kudos: 377
Collections: Winterhawk Wonderland





	Stardust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Narcotic_Dollie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcotic_Dollie/gifts).



> For the winterhawkwonderland exchange - huge thanks to the mods who organized this and all the awesome people who participated!!!  
> -  
> For Narcydoll, who wanted sex worker Clint. I also threw in some soul mate things, but not quite the traditional way.  
> -  
> A huge and eternal thanks to Ro for everything, but especially editing this.

-o-

  
  


As soon as Bucky walked into Cathedrale Restaurant, he regretted ever having agreed to this date.

To be fair, he had regretted agreeing to the date ever since he had clicked ‘accept’ one week ago. But this - the restaurant, which he _should_ have looked up beforehand - this sealed it. 

This date was going to be an unmitigated disaster.

Bucky was confident of that - not just because his entire week had been shit and there was no reason his Thursday night blind date would be any different, but because of _all this_.

He had spent a summer backpacking around Europe with Steve in college, and he had been dragged to enough crumbling churches by his best friend to appreciate what Cathedrale was doing with its decor - it sure as hell looked like a cathedral - but as a place to eat? As a place to meet a blind date? As a place where he might be meeting his _soul mate_? Hard pass. Hardest of passes.

At least he was dressed okay. He had left work half an hour early, it being the day after Christmas and completely dead anyway since most of his coworkers had taken the route of a long weekend and requested off work Thursday and Friday. A quick shower, shave and minor meltdown in front of his closet until his sister, Becca, confirmed via text that, yes, his black jeans and black button-down were fine and not too funereal for a first date.

He didn’t normally ask her advice on what looked good - after all, Bucky did just fine picking up guys on his own, and before he decided just how much more he preferred dick, he had done fine picking up girls too.

But this date wasn’t about ‘picking up’ someone, and it was also Becca’s fault. 

His meddling baby sister - two years younger, but definitely younger enough to always be a baby in Bucky’s eyes - had decided that, having reached the age of thirty as a bachelor, Bucky needed professional intervention. She signed him up for _Soul Meet_. 

Bucky had complained, had rejected the membership outright, had been enough of a whining baby that even their parents had pointed out how badly he was behaving about his sister’s generous offer. And… and the truth was, it _was_ generous. Bucky knew how pricy _Soul Meet_ was, and while Becca did okay for herself as a teacher at Bed-Stuy, she didn’t do well enough that she could afford to throw money away. 

The other truth, of course, was that Bucky was the kind of sad asshole who _wanted_ to find his soul mate, who secretly loved soul mate fairy tales and cuddled up on the couch in the winter to watch all of the shitty _Soulfull_ channel romance movies.

So he gave in, after a suitable three week period, and filled out _Soul Meet_ ’s extensive profile and sat back and… waited.

He waited four months for his first ‘Soul Match’. Long enough that a rep from the company reached out to assure him that they had received his data and they were, of course, working diligently to find his perfect match. 

_Soul Meet_ had an eighty-five percent success rate at matching soul mates, and a ninety-seven percent success rate at matching romantic couples that stayed together for at least five years. Considering that the odds of finding your soul mate without intervention were between thirty and fifty percent, _Soul Meet_ was as close to a guarantee at happily ever after as it was possible to find.

The fact that they struggled to match Bucky with anyone at all? Not encouraging.

When he did finally get the message saying that he had a ‘Soul Match’ and asking him to provide a handful of potential times to meet for a date, Bucky had been… anxious.

When he won the virtual ‘coin toss’ to decide which restaurant they would meet at, well, that only made things worse. And Bucky wasn’t used to feeling like this, wasn’t used to being off his game in any way - he was at the top of his field as a statistical engineer in the biotech division at StarkTech. He had a great apartment, a kickass cat. He got laid on the regular. He beat Steve on their morning runs half of the time.

Bucky Barnes was a badass. 

Except when it came to relationships, except when it came to the possibility of _forever_ and _happiness_ and _soul mates_.

So he fumbled, he picked a sports bar near Columbia University and he wore his favorite _Mets_ sweater and faded jeans that he probably should have thrown away before he started running so much because his thighs were more than a little obscene in the tight denim.

He fumbled, and he met Sam Wilson.

The guy was such an _asshole_ . From the too-charming gap between his front teeth to his ridiculous sense of humor to his ability to stare at Bucky and see fucking _everything_ he wasn’t saying to his goddamn sense of justice - he was an asshole.

Just like Steve. 

Bucky’s kind of asshole.

So, of course, they hit it off.

The dinner was hardly romantic, and the sex afterwards felt more like a competition - one that Bucky still maintained he had won - and the morning after? The morning after, Bucky invited Sam to go running with him and Steve, and just like that, Bucky had another friend.

Platonic soul mates were a thing, and hell, _those_ stories and those movies held almost as deep a place in Bucky’s heart as the romantic ones did. But if Steve Rogers wasn’t Bucky’s platonic soul mate, who the hell else could be? Not Sam Wilson, as awesome as he was.

And Bucky… Bucky had grown up in a household with soul-mated parents and he was a stupid, hopeless romantic but he _wanted_ that. 

Bucky’s second ‘Soul Match’ didn’t go quite as well.

Scott Lang was okay. He was funny, quirky, smart as hell and shady as fuck, and he loved his daughter - a cute kid whose entire life Bucky got to see courtesy of Scott keeping his phone shoved under Bucky’s nose practically their entire coffee date. Kids were okay, they were _fine_ , in Bucky’s book. They were something Rachel, Bucky’s youngest sister, would probably have someday, and that Bucky and Becca would compete to spoil. And Cassie Lang, at nine, was probably well past the pooping-eating-crying all the time phase of life, but still… too breakable for Bucky to feel comfortable around.

So Scott… Scott, he traded numbers with and invited to the pickup basketball game that he and Steve - and now Sam - and a few of their childhood friends still met for every Sunday afternoon. No sex, no morning after, no invitation to morning runs.

But, all the same, Scott became a friend… ish. He was hopeless at basketball, but gave Sam shit and was funny as hell _and_ brought juice boxes and other snacks with him so, he was a keeper.

Date number three was with a woman.

_Soul Meet_ didn’t give out personal information prior to first dates. All they gave you was the decided day and time, location, and the last name of your date.

So Bucky went to the Spyglass Rooftop Bar still wearing his suit from work, fully expecting - _hoping_ \- that ‘Romanov’ would be a hot Russian dude.

‘Romanov’ turned out to be a hot Russian lady who fully terrified Bucky and had him worshipping her within the first five minutes of their date. She was actual, literal perfection. Scary smart, snarky as hell, sexier than should be humanly possible - she was awesome.

So awesome, in fact, that Bucky wasn’t even disappointed she wasn’t a hot Russian dude. So awesome that when she insisted on paying the bill and taking Bucky back to her place so he could give her a foot massage - he was fully on board. 

He remained fully on board for the next two weeks, as Natasha introduced Bucky to some… incredibly kinky sex and Bucky probably ended up crying more in those fourteen days than he had in his entire _life_.

It was good. But…

They weren’t soul mates.

Despite what _Soulfull_ movies and Disney fairytales would have you believe, it was hardly ever ‘mated at first sight’. It could be - it had been for Bucky’s parents - but usually, it took a little time. An hour, a week - a year, in one stupidly romantic essay Bucky had read on _Medium_ last year that still made him tear up.

But that spark, whatever it was the poets described so achingly, wasn’t there between them.

Natasha shrugged, said she was happy to keep him on as a pet so long as he understood that she was going to continue looking for her soul mate, and Bucky…

Bucky was some kind of idiot, because he kissed her, thanked her for everything, and invited her out for drinks with Sam and Steve instead.

A week later, when the four of them finally had the time to meet up - at the same sports dive bar Bucky had taken Sam on for their date - Bucky got to see, first-hand, what it was like when soul mates _mated_.

It wasn’t a lightning strike. It wasn’t the first touch of hands or catch of eyes.

It was three pitchers in, Steve clutching his tits and laughing without a care in the world while Sam told a story about his dead partner Riley and their days in basic training and Natasha sat sandwiched between Steve and Bucky with a smirk on her face and zero hint that she was even tipsy. And then Steve’s laugh turned into a giggle.

An absurd sound that had no business coming from a body that huge or a man that passionate about damn near _everything_.

Sam froze midword. Natasha fumbled with her half-full glass of beer.

Steve looked at them both and made a kind of whimper that Bucky had never heard before.

And Bucky saw it happen.

Saw that thing Carl Sagan had described.

_Stardust tripping into place_.

The three of them didn’t start going at it in public, didn’t even rush out of the bar. They finished off the pitcher with Bucky, Steve blushing the entire damn time and Sam and Natasha trading smirks like they were in on some great, cosmic secret - and of course, they _were_.

When they left together half an hour later, Bucky watched them go, as one unit, towards Sam’s apartment. Natasha was holding Steve’s hand and Sam had an arm slung around Steve’s shoulders and… 

And they looked perfect, illuminated in the streetlights, moon high and bright overhead, walking off into their happily ever after.

Bucky had - understandably, in his mind - passed on the next two ‘Soul Matches’. He was _happy_ for Steve and Sam and Natasha - so damn happy - and he wanted them to have each other and he wanted Steve to have the _world,_ so- So, it was good. It was _great_ that Steve had met his soul mate _s_. And, frankly, it was a good thing the three of them were mated together because Bucky thought they were, individually and collectively, entirely too much for one person to handle. 

But, after six weeks of no dates, no calls to Becca to lament the impossibility of finding true love and all the garbage she let him whine about on the phone but ruthlessly gave him shit about in person, Becca showed up at his _work_.

With coffee and garlic bagels - complete with lox, so _fine_ \- and bullied him into opening his _Soul Meet_ account while she watched over his shoulder and accepted the ‘Soul Match’ he had gotten two days ago but had yet to reject.

So, here he was.

Soul Match number four.

In a restaurant trying to look like a fucking Gothic cathedral.

And, actually, his date - ‘Barton’ - was late.

Twenty minutes late.

Late enough that Bucky was fairly certain he was being stood up.

The maitre’d kept shooting Bucky looks as he loitered in the waiting area. Looks that vacillated between ‘you poor bastard’ and ‘stop pacing, you weirdo’ and ‘should I give him my number'?’ Bucky sincerely hoped the guy didn’t try to give Bucky his number - he was cute enough, and Bucky was pathetic enough that he’d probably call him and accept the pity sex gratefully. Which was just… sad.

A blast of cold air signalled the arrival of someone, and Bucky looked up, a little hopefully and a lot desperately.

A tall man in a well-worn leather jacket, fitted dark jeans, a black sweater, purple scarf and battered purple chuck’s walked in. His sandy hair was a mess, and there was a fading bruise around his left eye that bizarrely made his bright blue eyes stand out. He had freckles on his cheeks. He-

He was unfairly attractive, and he didn’t look at Bucky once as he walked right past him to the maitre’d and gave the man a bone-meltingly hot smirk.

“Hey, so, uh, I’ve got reservations. Or, I had reservations. But, they were for eight and it’s-”

“Eight-thirty,” the maitre’d supplied.

“Yeah. Uh. Any chance my table is still available or… or my date? Is he - or she - or, or they? Uh, Barnes?”

Bucky had been memorizing the curve of the man’s ass in his jeans, but jerked his gaze up at the mention of his own name.

The maitre’d looked right at Bucky, went so far as to raise an eyebrow in a silent ‘you want this?’ that Bucky had to scoff at.

Hell _yes,_ he wanted this. Forget the sad pity fuck. Give him the hot disaster. _Please_.

He stepped forward.

“I’m Barnes.”

The man turned around, looked at Bucky for the first time, and that damn smirk turned lopsided and revealed a dimple. He looked… familiar.

“I’m Barton,” he said, and held out his hand.

A hand that was rough, scarred and calloused and cold, with two fingers wrapped in purple tape and knuckles that looked as though they had been broken. Just like Steve’s knuckles. 

Still holding Barton’s hand, Bucky looked at his face again, took in the fading black eye.

Fucking hell.

Another asshole.

At least _Soul Meet_ knew his type.

The maitre’d cleared his throat, and both Bucky and Barton turned to look at him. They didn’t let each other go.

“Would you two care to follow me to your table?”

“Uh, do you- Is that okay?” Barton asked, color on his cheeks, and Bucky was _positive_ he knew Barton from somewhere. Something about that dimple and his flushed cheeks, his tousled hair…

“It’s good.” Bucky made himself release Barton’s hand. He didn’t think he was imagining the downward tick of Barton’s mouth at the loss of contact.

They followed the beleaguered maitre’d to their table.

And stared at each other while they pulled their jackets off, Barton as obvious as Bucky felt in checking him out.

They finally sat down. The maitre’d rolled his eyes and informed them that Wanda, their waitress, would be with them soon.

“So, uh, I’m Clint.”

“Bucky. James, but - Bucky.”

Clint smirked again, eyes amused and so very blue and _so familiar_.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“You too, Clint.”

They were saved from being anymore idiotic by the arrival of Wanda, a slim, red-haired woman with gray eyes.

“Good evening, gentlemen. We have a few specials on the menu for you to look at, but before I take your order, would you be interested in anything to drink?”

“Alcohol,” Clint said.

Bucky nodded in agreement.

“Two of those.” He was relieved that, for all of his too-attractive smirks, Clint was as anxious about this as Bucky was.

Wanda arched a dark eyebrow at them.

“Well, we have a bottle of isopropyl in the first aid kit, or can I interest you in something from the bar?” She sounded more amused than irritated, and Bucky and Clint traded embarrassed smiles.

Bucky made himself look at the drinks menu, and picked the first thing with gin that he saw.

“I’ll have the Scarborough Fair,” he said before he finished reading the ingredients. Fuck. It sounded like an _entree_ , not a drink. _Herbes de Provence, lemon, Scarborough Fair Savory Bitters_? 

This wasn’t the first nice restaurant Bucky had been to - his parents were well off, and he worked for Starktech. But this might be one of the most _pretentious_ restaurants he had ever been to.

“Yeah, sure, same,” Clint said without even looking at the menu.

Wanda nodded.

“I’ll have those right out.”

She left them to their suddenly slightly awkward staring.

“Sorry,” Clint said. “I- My best friend said this was a good date place. I, uh, I mean, it’s not really my kinda place? I’m good with pizza and beer, you know, but- but you-” he gestured towards Bucky, “you look great. Awesome, actually.”

Bucky blinked, unsure what the hell all Clint had been trying to say there.

“You look awesome too,” he said, because Clint looked _hot as hell_ and Bucky was frankly relieved that this restaurant hadn’t entirely been Clint’s idea.

Clint grimaced and pushed at the sleeves of his sweater, revealing tanned forearms and- 

Oh holy _fuck_.

Arrow tattoos.

The one on his right arm pointed towards Bucky, the one on his left towards Clint. The tattoos spanned the length of his forearms - long, clean lines across the slightly paler underside of his forearm, from wrist to inner elbow. Black and purple and very, _very_ familiar.

Bucky had seen those forearms too many times to count.

And now, now that he _knew_ , he looked at Clint again and felt his face turn beet red because _holy fuck_.

Clint Barton was _Hawkeye_.

Clint Barton was Bucky’s favorite camboy.

Clint Barton was Bucky’s absolute favorite masturbation fantasy.

Clint Barton was-

Clint Barton was staring at him.

“Bucky? You okay?”

He made himself swallow, made himself stop thinking about the live session Clint had done _last night_ , on _Christmas Day_ , when he did a striptease out of a (thankfully unpadded) Santa Suit until he was naked except for the hat and fucking himself on a dildo that had a light-up red tip a-la Rudolph. Fuck. Bucky had spent twenty dollars tipping Clint last night, so happy he had that gorgeous face to concentrate on and jack off to instead of thinking about his upcoming date with his ‘Soul Match’. 

_This date_.

“Uh, sorry,” Bucky forcefully dragged his mind out of the gutter. “I- Sorry.”

_Pull yourself together, Barnes_. 

He was having dinner with a camboy. With _his_ camboy. Okay, Clint wasn’t _his,_ and it wasn’t like Bucky was monogamous in his porn watching, but… but Clint was the camboy he always _chose_ when he was an option and- 

“How’d you get Bucky from James, anyway?” Clint asked, a bit of his earlier smirk on his face.

The smirk he usually wore when he read out the suggestions and requests from the chat during his cam sessions.

And- 

_Fuck_.

Why the _fuck_ had Bucky chosen BuckMe2Nite as his username? What kind of an idiot did something like that? That close to his name? That _stupid_ sounding?

Clint - _Hawkeye_ \- _Clint_ had even said his name, had responded to _him_ in more than one session. Had _thanked_ ‘BuckMe2Nite’ for being the highest tipper once and said, once, breathless and two fingers deep in his own ass while he rolled his left nipple with his free hand, “Holy fuck, Buck, you’ve got a dirty mind and thank god for that.”

“It’s, uh, my middle name,” Bucky made himself talk, made himself remember that- that what? He was a mostly functioning adult? Because that was currently very, extremely, unfortunately debatable.

“James Bucky Barnes?” Clint repeated.

“No, no. James Buchanan Barnes.”

Clint’s smirk was back in full force.

“Your parents named you after the gay president? The _worst_ president - not because he was gay,” Clint hastily added, one hand held up, palm out, and Bucky- 

Bucky had a too-visceral memory of Clint licking that palm before wrapping it around his own dick and slowing jacking himself off white the chat room tried to get him to get right to fucking himself on one of the many dildos spread out on Clint’s bed between his legs.

“It’s… yeah, yeah they did. Well. Sort of. It’s a family thing.”

Clint raised his eyebrows, but before Bucky could explain more, Wanda arrived with their drinks.

“Do we need a few more minutes with the menus, or are we ready to order?” She asked.

Bucky hadn’t even looked at the menu.

The expression of sudden panic on Clint’s face made it obvious that _he_ hadn’t either.

“We need a few more minutes,” Bucky said.

Wanda smiled indulgently.

“Of course, take all the time you need. I will be back to check in soon.”

She walked away, and Clint gave Bucky an apologetic-looking smile.

“Sorry.”

Bucky shrugged.

“It’s okay. I’m in no hurry.”

Clint’s smile turned lopsided, revealing that damn dimple again.

“Good. Same.”

Clint _winked,_ and Bucky… Bucky blushed like a teenager with a fucking crush and no control over himself.

Clint took a sip of his drink and made a face of absolute disgust.

“Oh, what the- Is there _gin_ in this?”

It was Bucky’s turn to smirk. He took a sip of his own and, despite it sounding overly complicated, the drink was damn good.

“Full of it,” he confirmed.

“Oh - oh no. You _like_ Pine Sol?” Clint grumbled.

“Love it,” Bucky confirmed.

Clint gave a theatrical shudder and pushed his drink towards Bucky.

“Then drink up. And explain this family disaster president connection.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but did as instructed on both counts, finishing up his own drink while explaining how his family had emigrated during Buchanan’s presidency and it was just a _thing_ for every generation of Barneses to have one or two James Buchanans. 

Wanda had to come back a third time before they were ready to order, and even then, she had to stand there and wait while Bucky and Clint stupidly stared at the menu.

“Is there… just a steak or something?” Clint finally asked, setting down the menu in defeat.

Wanda looked like she was exhibiting a lot of restraint by not rolling her eyes.

“Entrecôte Au Poivre,” Wanda said. “Steak with fries.”

“Oh thank fuck, that, please. Make it really rare and just- thank you.”

Clint’s relief was endearing, and Bucky grinned while he held up his own menu.

“I’ll have the same,” he said.

“Oh!” Clint sat up in his seat. “Can I get a vodka tonic? Titos. No fancy stuff, no gin, please.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and Clint rolled his right back at him.

“Of course,” Wanda said. She took the menus and left them alone again.

“So, Buck, did you grow up here?”

Hearing Clint call him Buck did things to Bucky.

On one hand, Steve called him Buck. 

On the other hand, _Hawkeye_ had called him Buck.

Did Clint… Had Clint guessed? Did he suspect that his sad excuse for a ‘Soul Match’ was the same pervert who had requested Clint try to autofellate two months ago and tipped him… way too much when he _had_?

“Brooklyn - Park Slope,” Bucky managed.

“Cool. Iowa, until I was in high school, then moved to Bushwick.”

“Where did you go to high school?” Bucky had to ask, momentarily entertaining the fantasy that he and Clint might have run into each other before, and how _weird_ would that be?

“Bushwick Community High School = you?”

“Berkeley Carroll.”

“Ha, uh, yeah, not my speed. Grew up in foster homes and, uh, school wasn’t really my thing. I barely scraped by on an athletic scholarship to Stony Brook.”

“That’s a good university, though,” Bucky pointed out. It had been Becca’s safety school, actually. 

Clint’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh yeah? And where did you go?”

“Columbia for undergrad.”

“ _Columbia_ for - wait, you went to graduate school too? Wait, wait, wait. You like gin _and_ school?”

Bucky rolled his eyes again.

“Yes, I like gin and school. Are those that much of a dealbreaker?”

Clint propped his chin up in one hand and gave Bucky a considering look.

“I’ll be honest - definite strikes against you, but not dealbreakers. You’ve just got some work ahead of you.”

“I don’t mind working hard,” Bucky said.

Clint grinned, eyes sparkling, and Bucky realized just how easily they had taken their flirting in a decidedly sexual direction.

“So, Columbia and then where, genius?”

“MIT,” Bucky said.

“Right. Of course. Cool, cool, cool. You, uh… you really are a genius, huh? You work for Google or something now?”

“Starktech.”

Clint stared.

Wanda came by and dropped off his drink, and Clint took it from her before it was even on the table. He took a long, deep sip.

“So, _Soul Meet_ decided to match a preppy, hot genius with a college dropout dumb enough to take a date to a swanky French restaurant when I don’t even speak French? Dude, I think you should ask for a refund.”

“I don’t speak French either,” Bucky pointed out, aware that that wasn’t really the point of what Clint had said but… he had to start somewhere.

Clint rolled his eyes again.

“Okay, sure, so you’re not _perfect_. But you still-”

“Do you enjoy your job?” Bucky asked, not really prepared to lie well enough to ask Clint what his job _was_ since, well, he knew.

“Hell yeah. I love my job. Jobs,” he added with a shrug. 

“Then does it really matter where I went to school or where I work? It’s not a competition, you know. You like your job - jobs. I like mine. We both win.”

“I thought it wasn’t a competition,” Clint pointed out, smirking again.

Bucky glared at him.

Clint toyed with the garnish in his drink before taking another sip, and… and it was impossible for Bucky not to notice the way his lips fit against the rim of the glass, the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

“So, when you aren’t doing all the smart things and saving the world, what do you do?” Clint asked.

“Spend time with my family, my friends, workout.”

Clint nodded, eyes roaming over Bucky’s chest and arms.

“What gym do you go to?”

“I don’t, mostly. I run with my best friend and… one of his soul mates most mornings. A bit of weight training at home. I go to Goldie’s a few times a month to do some boxing.”

“Ha!” Clint snapped his fingers. “I _knew_ you looked familiar! I teach kickboxing and self-defense classes at Goldie’s. I musta seen you there before.”

That was… that was actually encouraging. 

“Are you saying you’ve checked me out at the gym?”

Clint blushed, and _damn_ but Bucky enjoyed making him do that. Especially when he was able to see it in person and not via his computer, when he didn’t have to share Clint’s flush, freckled cheeks with a host of other horny people paying Clint to get off for them.

“Once or twice, sure. Can you _blame_ me? You’ve seen your ass, right?”

And this… this, Bucky could do.

The rest of the meal was _easy_.

They flirted, they trash-talked the restaurant’s decor in hushed tones, they argued about their favorite pizza places, coffee shops, debated the merits of cats vs. dogs until they finally agreed that _both_ was really the best and- 

And by the time Wanda came by to ask if they wanted to look over the dessert menu, Bucky was maybe more than a little disappointed that it meant the night would be over soon.

Clint looked at Bucky while Wanda stood there, menus in hand.

“You know, there’s an awesome cheesecake place near my apartment,” he said.

Bucky was indifferent to cheesecake.

“Sounds perfect.”

-o-

They didn’t even slow down as they walked past the cheesecake place - a little diner that advertised _The Best Cheesecake in Brooklyn_ , just like nearly every other little diner in Brooklyn. 

By the time they had climbed to the sixth floor of Clint’s apartment building and Clint was fumbling in his pocket for his keys, Bucky had his tongue in Clint’s mouth and his hands on Clint’s back, under his rucked-up shirt, and slowing down for _anything_ was damn far from both of their minds.

Clint finally managed to get the door open, and he yanked Bucky inside before slamming Bucky up against the door to close it.

Bucky groaned into Clint’s mouth, because that was _hot_ , being manhandled like that. But as soon as Clint locked the door, slid two deadbolts home and then dropped his keys on the floor, Clint was hiking himself up in Bucky’s arms and Bucky was more than happy to oblige.

Because lifting Clint up, turning him so that _he_ was against the wall and Bucky was the one doing the manhandling? Equally hot. 

“So,” Clint broke free of their kiss, which had gone on for long enough that they both were breathless and red-faced and gasping for air, “you gonna _Buck_ me tonight?”

Bucky almost dropped him, but Clint’s strong, long legs were wrapped tight around his waist and his ridiculously toned biceps and forearms held on to Bucky’s shoulders.

“You knew.”

Clint smirked.

“I guessed.”

Bucky didn’t even have the chance to be embarrassed before Clint’s head was moving closer, Clint’s hot breath ghosting across the side of his face, Clint whispering in his ear.

“What do I win? A ride on the dick I’ve been wondering about for the last eleven months?”

It wasn’t _fair_ that Clint _knew_ , that Clint _remembered him_ , that Clint-

“Seriously. I want you to fuck me, Bucky. I don’t give a shit that you pay to watch me get off. All I care about,” and somehow Clint managed to roll his hips, to push his denim-covered erection against Bucky, “all I care about is you fucking me, okay, babe?”

“Yeah,” Bucky managed to say, and he deserved another doctorate from MIT just for getting that word out because doing _anything_ that involved enough blood-flow traveling north of his dick at that moment was a monumental effort.

“Good, now come on.” Clint did some kind of slide/jump move that had him back on his own two feet, and then his hand was in Bucky’s and he was dragging him up a flight of stairs to the loft in his apartment, and then he was pushing Bucky onto a bed, and Bucky?

Bucky was in heaven.

Clint stood at the foot of the bed, smirking down at him, illuminated by the light from downstairs. He kicked off his shoes, tugged off his socks, threw his scarf and jacket across the room.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky said, and it wasn’t the first time he had called Clint beautiful. He typed it into the chats _all of the time,_ and whenever Clint saw it, whenever he repeated the word ‘beautiful’, he blushed and shook his head and smiled, and he did it now too.

“I’ve got a fine ass and cut abs, and I know how to work camera angles,” Clint argued now.

“Fuck that. You’re gorgeous. With your clothes on. With them off.” Bucky sat up and, as soon as Clint’s head and shoulders were clear of his sweater, Bucky put his hands on Clint’s sides and pulled him close.

Clint looked down at him, eyes dark and lips parted.

“Perfect,” Bucky decided, kissing the scar on Clint’s clavicle that he never explained, no matter how many people asked about it in the chats. He trailed his mouth down to Clint’s left nipple, laving at it and then sucking it between his lips when he had worked it into a hard nub.

Clint groaned and his fingers slid into Bucky’s hair, tugging him closer still.

Bucky gave the same treatment to Clint’s other nipple, remembering just how much Clint seemed to enjoy playing with them himself, even when he wasn’t asked to, during his sessions.

Clint’s breathing was uneven, heavy, and his fingers had an almost painful grip on Bucky after just a few minutes. 

_This_ was heaven.

Bucky maneuvered Clint onto the bed, breaking away from his chest so that he could smooth his hands over the rest of Clint’s body.

Clint lifted his hips to help Bucky ease off his jeans and- 

And Clint wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Not fair,” Bucky groaned.

“Never claimed to play fair.” Clint grinned up at him and reached down to fist his own half-hard cock.

Bucky watched, mesmerized.

“C’mon, babe, you’ve got too many clothes on,” Clint complained after a moment.

Right. Fair. True.

Bucky stripped a little clumsily, rushing through it because, well, _he_ wasn’t the guy with a body people paid to see and-

“Holy _fuck_ .” Clint stopped his slow jerking off and reached for Bucky with both hands. “How the fuck- Is your body for fucking _real_?”

Bucky found himself prone on the bed, back on the mattress, Clint straddling him and looking at him… looking at him like he wanted to consume Bucky.

Clint’s hands smoothed over his chest, his abs, back up to his shoulders.

“God _damn_ , Buck… you… Fuck, your _dick_ is a work of art.”

Bucky had to laugh at that because his dick was just a dick. Average, maybe a little thicker, but nothing to look at and compose poetry to. He could, however, put it to excellent use.

“Lube? Condoms?”

Clint stretched over Bucky, thighs keeping him in place, cock tantalizingly close to Bucky’s mouth. He desperately wanted to know what it felt like to have Clint’s cock buried in his mouth, fucking his throat. Wanted to know what he _tasted_ like, and Bucky quite frankly had never wanted to give head without a condom before. Herpes vs. tasting semen wasn’t even a fair fight, in his mind. But Clint’s dick… now _that_ was a work of art.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Clint panted, clicking open the lube and spreading some on his fingers.

“Like what, sweetheart?” Bucky asked, letting himself at least touch that perfect cock. He stroked Clint slowly, teasing him until Clint made a frustrated sound and started to rock into Bucky’s hand.

“Like you- Fuck, Bucky, I don’t want to come until you’re inside me. You gotta stop.”

Bucky didn’t pull his hand away, but he did stop moving, and after a moment, so did Clint.

Clint drew in a shaky breath and reached behind himself and, eyes open and fixed on Bucky, started to finger himself open.

“Like I want to worship you?” Bucky suggested, and Clint moaned.

“Fuck, dude, you can’t- you can’t just say shit like that.”

“Unless you’re planning on gagging me, I can and I will.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Clint growled.

Bucky smirked, thinking of the _last_ time he had been gagged and, well, if that was something Clint wanted to try…

“Jesus fucking - I can _see_ you thinking about it, you kinky fucker,” Clint whined, and Bucky laughed.

“Shut up,” Clint muttered, but he was wearing his lopsided smirk when he tossed the condom wrapper at Bucky’s face. “Suit up, babe.”

Bucky did as ordered, eager and just a bit anxious, because what if he wasn’t good enough? What if-

Clint leaned down and kissed him, stealing Bucky’s breath and thoughts.

And then Clint was maneuvering Bucky’s cock to his entrance and Bucky was sliding into him, Clint so hot and tight and-

“Oh, oh _Buck_.”

Bucky caught Clint’s gaze, his so, so blue eyes and- 

And it felt like the world shifted, like the entire universe moved, like every atom, every nanoparticle, shifted into alignment and _everything_ fit. 

Like stardust tripping into place.

Clint, his soul mate, reached for him, right hand finding Bucky’s left, and their fingers tangled together and-

This. _This_ was heaven.

-o-

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So, anyone who is a regular commenter on my fics probably got notifications that I FINALLY responded to your comments. And if your comments were from more than 50 days ago... I just sent my love and appreciation via <3
> 
> I want to apologize for not responding with more depth to the absolutely treasured comments you leave me. Most of you know these last six months have been rough as hell for me, and even though I didn't respond to the comments when I received them, they warmed my heart and kept me inspired to create and I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to leave them for me.
> 
> Please know that, while I don't do New Year's Resolutions, I have promised myself that I will be much, much better at responding to comments in 2020 because they SERIOUSLY mean the world to me. Thank you all so very, very much.


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